


Let's Make A Living Out Of Dancing On Our Graves

by SpaceLord



Category: The Wicked + The Divine
Genre: Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Godhood Baphomet, good job, making decisions and immediately regretting them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5547428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceLord/pseuds/SpaceLord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't fall into their world. He jumped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Make A Living Out Of Dancing On Our Graves

**Author's Note:**

> I realized that there was a typo in the title for this series. I tried not to be too hard on myself for that because it was like 5:30 am when I wrote that. But, you know how it is. Damn typos.
> 
> Update: As of WicDiv #20 this story is no long canon compliant. Damn you WicDiv team.

She appears at his window in a flurry of feathers and ethereal light that would've been overly dramatic and cliche for anyone else. But for her? It’s perfect.

A gentle smile is on her lips, like she's finally happy to see him again. He stares because she looks familiar and otherworldly at the same time. It's strange how everything can change in just a moment. They've known each other for years, but now there's a part of her he doesn't know at all.

“Let’s fall.” It's barely over a whisper, and yet the words reverberate in his head. They haven't even registered before he's reaching for her outstretched hand with his own.

And then there's another flurry, more intense than the first. Probably because the birds are swirling around him now, blocking out the rest of the world. He can't even see her anymore, but he can feel her hand holding his. It helps to keep him from thinking he's actually just losing his mind.

Eventually his feet hit the floor, which surprises him, because he didn't realize they'd left it in the first place. She’s still beside him and holding his hand. But instead of meeting his gaze when he looks to her, she stares out ahead.

“This is the boy I spoke of.”

Head snapping forward, his eyes widen at the sight of an elderly woman. Though she looks old and frail, she has an intimidating aura that makes his throat go dry. Obviously she's part of this whole Recurrence thing, but he can't place her as any of the gods that have emerged so far. Someone else, then? Someone outside the pantheon?

The expression she bears looks more like a scowl than anything. Could just be due to the harsh shadows being cast across her face; he always was a bit of a pessimist. It feels like she's staring into his soul and he wonders if Marian actually brought him here to be killed. Later he'll think how funny it is that he was technically _right_ about that.

                                                                                    (It’s really not that funny.)

“Leave us be, Morrigan.”

With a slight bow of her head and one quick glance towards him, Marian slips her hand out from his grasp and retreats to the shadows, melting into the darkness. And then she’s gone.

The elderly woman paces towards him, allowing more light to hit her features. Instead of there being a scowl, like he'd assumed, her expression seems to be one of… worry? “So, you are Cameron.” It's not a question; she knows who he is.

But he answers “Yes” anyway, because he doesn't know what else to say.

“You will be an interesting one.”

There's no chance to ask what she means by that, because suddenly he's

 

falling

 

falling

 

falling

 

surrounded by faces

 

all of her

 

they're speaking of him

 

about who he'll be

 

who he is

 

why is he on fire

 

shouldn’t this hurt

 

he doesn’t want it to hurt but

 

what the _fuck_ is g-

 

And then it's over.

And he feels… well, conflicted. There’s an overwhelming sense that this is _right_ , that he's finally who he's always been meant to be. But he can’t ignore the pounding of his heart or the anxiety that starts to seep into his bones.

She regards him a careful look, face unreadable, and for a second he thinks maybe he’s screwed this up somehow. Over the years he’s learned that fucking things up is a specialty of his. Too bad that’s not something you can put on a resume. But he supposes he’s not going to have to worry about that anymore, is he?

When he starts to grow uncomfortable with the tense silence, she finally says, “We have not met before, Baphomet.” If he’s honest, he doesn’t really _get_ what that’s supposed to mean. Because yeah, they just met like five minutes ago? Did she think he forgot about that? He can’t keep the confusion from spreading across his features.

But then she smiles and opens her arms. “Welcome, my child. I am so happy to have you with us.” She embraces him like a grandmother would, and he’s alright with that.

In fact, as he tentatively returns the hug, he thinks that maybe everything’s going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Baphomet, if only you knew.


End file.
